


song for the winds

by edgy_fluffball



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Geralt Makes It To The Coast, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Implied Missed Chance, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jaskier is human, Post-Canon, Whump, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22575565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgy_fluffball/pseuds/edgy_fluffball
Summary: Geralt makes it to the coast, eventually. It's dreamy spot, this small fishing village perched at the edge of a cliff with heather and sea asters blooming in the sandy ground, dotting the landscape with purple and pale pink. There are nets hung up along the market place and he figures the first group of fishermen are already back from their morning fishing trip.It's a summer afternoon and the salty breeze is a welcome cooling on his skin where it shows under his leathers. Roach trots into the shadow provided by narrow houses around the near empty place. A few kids play in the fountain at the centre of the square, splashing and laughing as if there is nothing wrong or evil in the world.One of the children eyes him, curiosity bright in her eyes. She can't be older than eleven years, scrawny and probably under-fed but happy and lively in this bright, peaceful place, nonetheless.'Show me the bard's house,' he says when she edges closer to where he is patting Roach down, relieving her off the saddle for a moment, 'I'll give you a coin, if you make it quick.'
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 219





	song for the winds

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Song for the winds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25438039) by [Black_Malachite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Malachite/pseuds/Black_Malachite)



> Have some angst!

Geralt makes it to the coast, eventually. It's dreamy spot, this small fishing village perched at the edge of a cliff with heather and sea asters blooming in the sandy ground, dotting the landscape with purple and pale pink. There are nets hung up along the market place and he figures the first group of fishermen are already back from their morning fishing trip.

It's a summer afternoon and the salty breeze is a welcome cooling on his skin where it shows under his leathers. Roach trots into the shadow provided by narrow houses around the near empty place. A few kids play in the fountain at the centre of the square, splashing and laughing as if there is nothing wrong or evil in the world.

Geralt leaves Roach to drink from the trough in front of the inn, beginning to rub her dry.

One of the children eyes him, curiosity bright in her eyes. She can't be older than eleven years, scrawny and probably under-fed but happy and lively in this bright, peaceful place, nonetheless.

'Show me the bard's house,' he says when she edges closer to where he is patting Roach down, relieving her off the saddle for a moment, 'I'll give you a coin, if you make it quick.'

And she leads him, through the tiny village, past more fishing nets and a few boats that have been pulled onto land for repairs or because they are done for the day. He gets a further impression of the village as they move. Few adults are outside and the girl leads him straight out of the settlement and along the edge of the cliff. It is a beautiful place, colourful and tranquil but the sound of the waves surging against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff spoke of lively, wild waters and looming dangers not to be forgotten amidst the beauty.

Geralt allows himself to breathe in deeply, lets the salty, humid air fill his lungs along with the scent of thousands of flowers and trees. It smells warm and familiar, no matter that he has never been there before. He carries Roach's saddle over one shoulder and she enjoys the lifted weight by striding alongside him as they follow the small girl.

A house comes into view, a cottage, made of wooden planks, faded under the impact of sun and salt, with a stone wall surrounding it. Bushy shore pines cast shadows into the garden, birds sing in the cool green tree tops and butterflies and bees feast on the multitude of flowers growing everywhere. It is a spot that speaks of love and the caring hand of its inhabitant.

Geralt feels himself speed up, he lets go of Roach's reigns and she stops, begins to graze, and runs past the girl, through the wicket gate, along the overgrown path. He wants to call out, announce his presence, lace his words with an apology long overdue, with a promise he wanted to make long ago, a promise he has made to himself that he intends to keep.

No word leaves his throat. He stands in front of the door of the small cottage that looks like it should not be any different, and all he can do is stare, as the door opens.

He stares and then he wants to turn around, take the coin away from the girl and run, make Roach carry him away as fast as possible. Instead, he stares into the brown eyes and the soft face appearing in the doorframe.

She is slender enough to look like she makes her living out here, everything a product of her calloused hands and hard work. Her clothes are worn and no longer in fashion but they look like they once witnessed royal banquets somewhere south. She has bright eyes that carry wisdom and the experience of a few years, and a confused smile on her lips that is probably there because she has opened the door to find a witcher on her door step. Then, she sees the girl behind him and waves.

'You bring strange guests today,' she says and her voice is warm and soft and melodic, as if she's singing.

Geralt bows his head, almost sheepishly, overwhelmed with the situation.

'Forgive me, I must be at the wrong house, I was looking for the bard -'

'Oh, but I am here,' she lowers her hands from the doorframe, opening up a little to size him up with eager ambition, 'do you need someone wooed? Entertainment for a wedding? A commissioned song about your heroic deeds?'

Geralt tries to make sense of her words but fails. She looks at him expectantly and now he sees that her hair is held up by a tin whistle stuck through the bun in the back of her head, he sees the lute leaning against the wall behind the door.

He is at the bard's house, after all.

'Forgive me,' he manages with all manner and patience he can muster, 'I was told somebody else lived here, a famous bard, well-travelled, going by the name of Jaskier?'

Something in her eyes changes but it is fast gone and then she smiles woefully, 'Of course. A witcher looking for Master Jaskier. You must be Geralt of Rivia, then. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Priscilla.'

He hums in acknowledgement. The woman pulls the door shut as she steps outside and past him, 'I studied under Master Jaskier for many years after he came out here, he took me in after he found me in one of the towns close by, trying to earn money with my singing. He trained me, gave me a roof over my head for the longest time. Come with me, I will show you.'

And Geralt follows her, through the garden, around the corner of the house, out of the back, past a vegetable patch, over the fence into the thick heather growing here, past some haws and wild roses. The wind is stronger up here, close to the edge and it blows Geralt's hair into his face and makes his eyes burn for a moment.

Then, the moment passes and they stand a few feet from a soft mound where there is no more wind, just flowers and roses swaying in the wind. Priscilla takes a few more steps before turning around and standing aside, as if to make space for Geralt. Her eyes shine after walking in the strong wind.

'He wanted it to be here. Oftentimes, I would find him out here, no matter the time or weather, without a blanket, singing to the winds. That's what he said he was doing, he sang to the winds, willing them to carry the words and melodies out into the world, to his witcher. He loved this spot very much. One time, he told me to bring those here who sought him after everything.'

Geralt takes a first step, and maybe it wasn't the wind that made her eyes sparkle as wet and salty as the sea stomping and rolling far beneath them. He takes another step and Priscilla wipes at her eyes, discreetly and with a smile that makes him hurt more than getting his bones broken in a fight.

There is a small, earthen mound on top of a cliff, looking out over the sea and the world, surrounded by flowers and trees and stubborn plants that have no reason having roots strong enough to withstand the wind. Stubborn like him.

Geralt makes it to the coast, eventually. But he comes too late to see his bard.


End file.
